Futures Ruined
by ryoku1
Summary: "Your niece and nephew were born last night." Slaine stated, his eye firmly placed on the dull red of Inaho's gaze as it lay resolutely on the chess board between them. Canon based AU with roles changed


"Your niece and nephew were born last night." Slaine stated, his eye firmly placed on the dull red of Inaho's gaze as it lay resolutely on the chess board between them. When too much time had passed, when Inaho made no attempt to look up at him, or away from the chess board, Slaine relented, and moved his white rook to intercept Inaho's bishop.

As if a reward, Inaho spoke, the gentle timber of his voice flowing over Slaine like Terran rain, both refreshing and bone chilling."The names she picked?" The question was soft, and unemotional, even for Inaho. This was to be expected, it was well known how Inaho felt about the situation. Slaine wished such joyous news could bring him some pleasure, but it was not to be. Not even his beloved sister's fortune could dissuade Inaho's perpetual despair.

There had been a great deal of discussion involving the names. Faithful and loving to a fault, Yuki wished to preserve the memory of her only family, even with Inaho's name now so sullied in blood and grime. What did it matter, she'd protested, because the world thought him dead. Slaine had not been able to dissuade her to satisfaction. He knew this. "The girl is named Naho, the boy Nao." Slaine watched, as Inaho reached over, and moved his black knight to eliminate Slaine's rook. He did not look up, as Slaine had hoped. "I dissuaded her from the more obvious choice, as you requested." This also did not garnish him approval. He admitted that it was only half a victory, but it was difficult to deny Yuki even this one solace. "The girl has your eyes, but the boy looks nothing like either you or Yuki. He is all his father." Slaine smiled, thinking of the small babe, her eyes the color of blood, her stare as penetrating as her uncle's. "The girl, is especially fetching."

"Check." Inaho stated simply, his eyes never leaving the board, never looking up. Slaine knew better, but never stopped hoping.

Slaine blinked down at the board for a few seconds, only now seeing what Inaho had. He shifted his eye back up to red, imploring them to look, to notice, to try. He reminded himself, that it was Inaho's right, that he had no say in these things. Gently, Slaine reached for his white king, and laid it on its side. "Checkmate, your majesty." It was an intentional slight; it was petty and it was cruel, but Slaine was desperate, lived in desperation to see anything in those vacant red eyes, and as he had hoped, they were finally on him. Slaine basked in the feel of it, of that gaze raking over his body as if they were hot coals searing his flesh.

Slaine smiled, and meant every syllable. "I'm sorry, Prince."

"You always do as you please," Inaho stated, his voice hollow and resounding in the cold, dead air between them. "There is no use in reprimanding, or correcting you."

Slaine's eye fell to the board, suddenly overwhelmed with shame at the validity of the statement. Still, it was better than nothing, it was better than silence and the objective apathy that so characterized Inaho now. He felt dirty for wanting any reaction so desperately. "Shall we play again?" The statement was poor, and dispassionate. He should have been more attentive from the start.

Inaho stood from the table without answering. He turned his back on Slaine, and padded over to the book case. Slaine only watched from the opposite chair, paying close attention to the graceful curve of Inaho's hips as he moved, the methodical plodding of his feet against the lush carpet of the suite. He imagined, for a moment, that the confident posture was back, that Inaho was walking towards the throne he deserved, that there was more to his life than the suites where he now resided. Inaho's voice, hollow and apathetic, pulled Slaine from his deluded musings, the future he'd ruined. "There is no point if you do not play seriously." Inaho's red eyes glossed over the titles, and Slaine paid close attention to which books his eyes lingered on. He would procure more; provide an endless supply as long as Inaho continued to pay the bound paper notice.

"Asseylum has asked to see you again." The statement fell out of his lips unceremoniously. Slaine knew it was a mistake; it was always a mistake, no matter how many times he tried. He should have stopped pushing by now, but he'd never forgotten the shimmer in those red eyes when they fell on Asseylum. He would never forget the way she hung on Inaho's words, how her birdsongs so eased his torment. The jealousy was gone; the desperation had cannibalized it long ago."I know you miss her, Prince Inaho. What do you have to lose from seeing her now? She made you happy once. If you allowed it, she would again."

Inaho's hand reached for a thick volume, but stopped, before going motionless, and falling to his side. They stayed in silence for a long time, and if Inaho looked at him, Slaine was too ashamed to look anywhere but down. He had not come to do this, he had not come to force this issue again, but it had presented itself none the less. Slaine had no excuse, and he deserved any punishment Inaho deemed appropriate, more so because he knew Inaho would not. His blood soaked Prince was kind, to kind for all the strife and sacrifice that had dictated his life. "I have already shackled you to my side, Slaine." Inaho said softly, his eyes lingering on the window, on the lush garden that lay beyond it. The garden Slaine had hoped would make this cage more pleasant. How foolish he was, to think that simple flowers could do what he could not. "There is no sense in adding another to my misery."

He wanted to tell Inaho of what Asseylum had said. How deeply she wished to release him from the chains of misery that had so bound him from birth. How Slaine wanted nothing more than his happiness, even if that eliminated himself from the image. Even if Asseylum became that guiding light, Slaine knew he would be happy. But he could not say these things, could not bring himself to give them words. Instead, he stood, and said something equally as valid, equally as true. "I am here by choice, Prince Inaho."

Inaho continued to look out the window, and Slaine watched the tension in his shoulders, the timber of his neck as it held it's weary load ever upwards. They stood in silence for millennia of torment, before Inaho finally turned, looked him dead in the face, and Slaine lost all feeling except for pain and despair. "You are a liar Slaine Troyard." He had pushed too far, he knew it before, but the gaping wound was unexpected, the blazing hurt in Inaho's eyes to raw for him to respond coherently. Slaine kept himself standing, but only by clutching his chest, his eye fixed to the silver necklace adored around Inaho's neck. But then Inaho's eyes were gone, once again lingering on the gardens, the deep red rose bushes that so matched his eyes, and Slaine wanted to beg for the gaze back, and the pain that came with it. It was far better than the hollowness that seeped into him. "You own me nothing for saving your life. You should not waste it in this way, and neither should Asseylum."

There were a million things he wanted to say. "She loves you," was the only thing that made it to his lips, because Slaine could not fix this. He had tried and tried over and over, but he simply could not. As Prince Inaho had always been, he was out of Slaine's reach. Slaine had to believe that Asseylum could do what he could not, if only Inaho would let her. Slaine had to believe, for both of them.

"Slaine, we have discussed this." Again and again and again and again and again; time and time again. "I will not saddle anyone else with the curse that is my bloodline. Yuki has sired heirs to the throne. I was disposable from the start as the second child. I have played my part, and earned this punishment."

"You have earned my loyalty." It was probably all a waste. Slaine knew he would never dissuade Inaho from the path of self deprivation he had laid for himself. All he could do, all he'd ever been able to do, was suffer alongside him, and be of use. There was nothing Inaho loathed more than his dedication, than Slaine's steadfast refusal to give up trying to ensure his happiness.

"You give it away to freely, my loyal Slaine." Those red eyes were on him again, but this time Slaine could feel the hunger that dwelled within them. It was better than the pain, and it was better than the apathy, the hollow glow those red eyes usually held, but it was not enough. It would never be enough, but it was all he could give, all he could get. He stood straight and tall, as Inaho approached him achingly, methodically. That small, cold hand reached, and slipped under the thick fabric of Slaine's uniform. Practiced fingers unhooked buttons, and ghosted over the sensitive scars littered over Slaine's chest and back. He shivered in both anticipation and dread. "But I am royalty. Greed is in my blood."

Inaho led, and Slaine faithfully followed, as it always had been. Inaho settled on the draped back of the chaise-lounge, his eyes half lidded and hollow, his knees spread. Slaine knew what he was meant to do. "It is not greed, Prince." He almost stumbled around the words, almost added a weak, useless 'my', as he shimmied the well fitted pants off of Inaho's hips. Before reminding himself, that he owned nothing. "It is entitlement." Inaho reached down, and reverently cupped his face, raised it so that they were eye to eye. Those red eyes told him to stop, to run and never come back to this prison of velvet and privilege. They pleaded, in a way that Inaho never would, they pushed him away, as Inaho never will, but Slaine had to try. He was good for nothing else now, could give no other happiness but carnal pleasure. "Aldnoah does not become you, Prince. Let me remind you that you are Inaho Kaizuka, your flesh as real and solid as any other." It was a plea, a desperate plea to share the burden, to allow himself even these base pleasures. To be greedy.

The hand on his cheek slipped lifelessly to the plush cushions of the chaise-lounge, and Slaine moved forward. He took the soft member in his hand. As always, he had to work for this. He started slow, applying delicate movements on the ball sack with his fingers, then extending his tongue to the head of Inaho's cock. His tongue and fingers were slow, methodical, he knew what worked, not necessarily what pleased. "You have always been a fool, Slaine Troyard." Inaho stated, around the deep breaths, the stuttering lips, the fingers that lovingly carded through his hair.

He stopped his lavished affections long enough to get a look at the red of Inaho's face, the glaze of his eyes, and the lust that lied there. "I only wish for your happiness." Inaho's lips formed around something, a denial, perhaps, a plea for cessation. Slaine didn't allow him the word, and plunged Inaho's hardening cock deep into his throat. And it was his name on Inaho's lips, achingly slow, mournfully pleading, as hips started thrusting, as the back of his throat took a desperate beating. He had to focus not to choke, not to show his discomfort as drool dragged down his face, as his head lolled rhythmically on his neck. He took every bit of it, every measured and erratic thrust of Inaho's hips, every twitch of the hard dick against his sore throat, every touch as fingers teased and wore and pulled on his hair, every scrap of semen as Inaho cried his name in both anguish and pleasure, and releases, because Slaine wouldn't let him pull out before it was done. He needed every bit of it, every gentle, murmured plea, and every nail gripping his shoulders like a lifeline.

Some days, he wished Inaho needed it too. That day was not one of them.


End file.
